a frosty reception from this ice-white post-box.
resistant to my purge, it disdains me.
backspace key heats up, starts to snigger.
Well, it takes more than that to leave its mark on me.
Only I know the weakness in my armour, and slice cleanly into my psyche from within. Familiar cold metal tracks along a well-worn groove.
A bloodied hand, ravaged by sharp teeth or cold, scalpel-thin excision?
1 comment:
Yikes.
That's a savage edge you've got there... careful now...
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